A Million Little Pieces

Having heard about James Frey’s “memoirs” from a number of my patients, and having been forewarned that he writes as an antagonist of Twelve-Step programs, I was somewhat reluctant to invest time and energy in reading the book. As controversy arose over whether the memoir was factually accurate, I decided that something of interest must have been stirring all of the debate and commenced sharing his journey. I can now enthusiastically recommend that you do likewise. First, let us note the debate and controversy. Critics of this book have picked apart “facts” presented and done research to contradict these “facts.” For our purposes, I suggest a less literal reading that might enrich our understanding of how treatment and recovery are experienced by our patients and group-psychotherapy members. We might benefit, therefore, from attending more closely to the process described in the book and letting go of the factual content. As the book opens, James has hit absolute bottom in his addictions. He is on an airplane, apparently after a blackout during which he suffered “a hole in my cheek, my nose is broken and my eyes are swollen and nearly shut . . . I’m in the back of a plane and there’s no one near me . . . my clothes are covered with a colorful mixture of spit, snot, urine, vomit and blood.” With this beginning we are introduced to the physical, emotional, and spiritual wounds that typically accompany an addict’s bottoming out, including the experience of complete isolation from the world and being covered in all of our physical analogues of shame. We meet James’ parents, who are terrified and confused by their son’s disease, and totally ignorant of their own participation in the fam-